


Back Roads Hymn

by AtlasMothman



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Both of our boys cry because they have a lot of feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Hannibal is here to help and to listen, He hasn’t told anyone until Hannibal, It’s gonna be okay, M/M, Mischa is mentioned very very briefly, References to Depression, References to Manic episodes, References to PTSD, There is nothing explicitly described, They love each other, This is meant to be a healing and comforting fic, Will and Hannibal are in a relationship, Will has a specific way of coping with his job, Will is Tired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26643052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlasMothman/pseuds/AtlasMothman
Summary: Will has a way that he copes that he hasn’t shared with anyone else. Not until he falls in love with Hannibal Lecter.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	Back Roads Hymn

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very brief, cathartic fic I wrote about a way that I cope that I think Will would find comfort in, also. There isn’t a specifc time this takes place. I suppose this is sort of my own AU in a way because this takes place before The Fall, but Will and Hannibal are in a romantic relationship. 
> 
> As for warnings: there is a brief mention to Will’s jobs and dealing with murders, alludes to emotional instability, PTSD, and manic depressive episodes, some mention of lack of emotional vulnerability and physical affection, brief crying from both Hannibal and Will, but other than that, this is ultimately a comfort fic. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and find comfort in it the way I did. 
> 
> Much love, 
> 
> ~ Moth 🦋💖

When Will comes to, he's on Hannibal's front step, hand looming over the doorknob. Dumbstruck and in horror of himself, he drops his hand before sitting heavy on the older man's front step. Will knows he can always reach out to Hannibal, he's always been there for him and has become his most loyal and trustworthy friend. Then, he became something more all together. 

But for Will to lean towards and crave Hannibal so much that he winds up on his front lawn without thinking? 

He runs a hand through his curls and sighs deeply. Will was pulling his keys for his truck from his pocket to leave when Hannibal's front door opened and startled him. His keys clattered to the ground. 

"Will, do you want to come in or would you rather sit there for the night?" 

The deep voice immediately soothed him and it struck a chord deep within Will. He huffed, "I'm sorry. I didn't want to bother you. How did you even know I was here?" 

"I have a keen ear and your truck is rather telling." Hannibal came down to the last step to offer Will a large, warm hand, "Come inside. Let's have a drink." 

“Thank you,” Will sipped at his whiskey slowly, he leaned back and let his body sink into Hannibal’s expensive leather couch.

“What’s wrong, Will? Is there anything I can do?” The doctor’s voice was so sincere that Will felt a pang in his chest. It steadied and dulled into a warm squeeze behind his rib cage. 

“I don’t feel up to talking,” it was honest and Will applauded himself for it. Better state the fact outright than play a verbal game with Hannibal that leads to Will feeling emotionally prodded and Hannibal shut out. 

“What would you like to do?” Always soft and understanding. He pushed only when Will wanted and tonight, he did not. 

“Usually when I’m like this, I go for a drive. Which I suppose was what I was doing when I wound up here.” 

Hannibal’s forehead creased, “I’m concerned that you lost track of where you were going while driving, Will.”

He only sighed, “I am, too. That’s why I’ve been hesitating to leave, if I’m completely honest.” 

He looked so lost, so put down, that Hannibal didn’t hesitate to lean forward and run a soothing palm over Will’s cheek. When physicality was first introduced into their relationship, Will would always stiffen and clench up as if he were about to bolt. Years upon years of deprivation of something can cause fear when that something is brought back. It was no different for Will. Now, however, he blossoms under Hannibal’s touch- finds a comfort in it that he never allowed in himself before. When Hannibal touches him, he leans into it like a man who’s been starved. 

“Would you like to go for a drive? I don’t mind driving for however long you need.” 

Will smiled at the offer before it dropped and was replaced by the color that rose into his cheeks, “I don’t think you would like my drives.” He received a raised, questioning eyebrow in response. “I tend to listen to loud music and… sing… when I’m frustrated,” he clarified. 

Hannibal’s lip upturned the slightest bit before he cooled his expression, “I don’t mind if you aren’t concerned about sharing that outlet with me.” 

Was he concerned?

Will had never even thought about letting another person see him like that. He’d always done it alone, driving late at night when the roads were nearly barren. The music would be so loud that the car would hum with it and Will would lose himself in song after song. Each one would bring on new lyrics, new emotions for him to focus on until his voice went hoarse with the effort. He wouldn’t go home until he was tired from the music and the energy he put in trying to match each singer- overstimulated just enough that he knew he would find the silence of his home relieving and not distressful- or until his truck’s gage nearly hit empty. Those nights cut short were the worst: if he wasn’t thoroughly exhausted by the end of the drive, he knew he would have a rough night filled with anxious pacing and rocking until he wore himself out enough to sleep. 

Despite how ridiculous and unexpected it may seem to others that he used music and singing as an outlet to cope, Hannibal didn’t seem to find it shocking or mind it the least. In fact, he seemed welcoming and open. He was willing and borderline excited to simply be able to see another part of Will, especially an aspect of himself that he doesn’t share with others. Will knew he was already too far gone on him to deny him that. Besides, if there was anyone who wouldn’t judge Will’s singing voice and taste in music, it was Hannibal. 

“I… I would like that, Hannibal. Thank you.” Oh and how Hannibal beamed at his trust. Will didn’t regret his choice simply for that one look. It pulled a soft smile from Will in ways nothing has in too long of a time. 

“Wonderful. Let me grab my keys.” While Hannibal switched out his house slippers for proper shoes and grabbed his car keys, Will focused on downing the rest of his glass. Although he was content to allow Hannibal and himself this moment, he knew it would take him time to open up completely with Hannibal present. 

Folding himself in his flannel, jeans, and ten year old work boots into Hannibal’s expensive Bentley never seemed to not amuse him. Connecting his phone to the car’s Bluetooth so he could play a collage of songs that were most definitely not the classical music it was used to was just as pleasing. Hannibal still had not spoken a word or commented on the first few songs, choosing instead to give Will space and concentrate on simply driving aimlessly around the dark streets of Baltimore. Will was grateful. 

Around the fourth song, Will was steadily humming to the music. By the sixth, he was singing quietly to himself. Around the tenth song, however, he was belting. Loud, angry lyrics poured from his mouth with a sense of purpose. Hannibal observed him then, subtly, from the corner of his eye. He watched how Will processed and felt each song, how he got excited from each word to the next. He understood why Will needed this when he watched him: each song was a story that was not a haunting story of Will’s own and Will being able to process and delve into emotions that were not his own in a safe and controlled environment allowed for him to release. He didn’t need to force himself to think and then continue to control his thoughts before they became too violent. He simply had to sing, to feel each song, allow himself to let go of each one as they pass, and then continue onto the next. Hannibal knew, with his day job, Will never got to let go. Even when a killer was caught, there would always be stories with unhappy endings that Will wouldn’t allow himself to forget. With music, he could do that. He could free himself. 

Hannibal was torn: he was both glad and sorry for the fact that no one else besides him has been able to see Will in these moments. He felt more of the former, however, as white sparks of jealousy flared behind his eyes at the thought. He imagined anyone else would judge Will like this, find him strange in his manic movements to the music, his straining voice trying to keep up, and he hated them for it. He hated that Will knew this himself and that’s why he never allowed anyone to company him on trying nights like this before. Yet again, Hannibal was glad and grateful to be the only one: warm possessiveness unfurled in his lower belly and he leaned farther back into the Bentley’s seat with contentment. 

When Will’s voice started breaking and catching on high notes, Hannibal began shooting wide, fanged smiles to match Will’s embarrassed laughter. He didn’t remember the last time he felt like this. He remembered late nights in Lithuania. He remembered home in the form of childhood poems turned to hymns, high pitched, but dainty singing from his sister. How they would catch shrill on the high notes and the bouts of laughter that followed. He found that same sense of home, of blatant trust and comfort in Will’s own laughter. It was rare and so bright like the nights he and Mischa would catch fireflies near the edge of the woods, their mother humming from the porch of the house. 

When Hannibal reached to wipe a tear from falling, Will didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in his own singing and looking out the dark car window. 

Eventually Will’s voice began to pitch higher and higher. It sounded painful and more manic than sat comfortably with Hannibal. He was about to pull over and question Will when the crying started. It was quiet compared to the singing, but Hannibal still heard it in Will’s breathing. Every now and then, Will sang a particularly emotional line from a song that struck a chord with him in a watery voice. Other than that, he was comfortable to cry quietly to himself and allow the catharsis of being vulnerable and tired overtake him. Hannibal decided not to say anything, but instead reached his free hand that was not on the steering wheel to intertwine with Will’s on the console between their seats. 

By the time Hannibal pulled into Will’s driveway in Wolf Trap, Will was fast asleep in the passenger seat. He didn’t stir when Hannibal parked and unbuckled him, but began to protest when Hannibal picked him up and positioned his arm over his shoulder. 

“I can walk,” his voice was still thick with sleep and it sounded like gravel and honey to Hannibal’s ears. 

“We’re almost inside, anyway, Will. Just relax, my boy.” He was weak to that endearment and Hannibal knew it, taking full advantage of his sudden shyness to get them both through the door and into Will’s joint living room and bedroom, so he could place Will on the mattress. 

“You wanna stay?” Will asked noncommittally, but Hannibal heard the gratefulness in it and knew that this was Will’s way of saying thank you. 

“I would love to.” There was no heat within the way Will and Hannibal stripped into their undershirts and boxers. Neither was it present when they huddled close together in Will’s bed, Hannibal wrapped around Will’s back like a second blanket. This was a night of comfort and safety. The vulnerability and intimacy had already been shared in the form of Will’s voice in Hannibal’s car. 

“I like car rides with you,” Will spoke quietly into the crook of Hannibals’ wrist before placing a brief kiss there. 

“I enjoy your singing,” Hannibal hummed, tucking his nose into Will’s curls. 

“We could do that more often,” he offered shyly. 

“Nothing would make me happier.” 

“You make me happy.” 

Something squeezed behind Hannibal’s ribs so tight he feared he had forgotten how to breathe, “As do you, Will. Always. In all forms. I love every part of you that you share with me.” 

“For once, I don’t feel afraid to share,” at this, Hannibal turned Will until they were face to face. They kissed briefly before Hannibal tucked Will beneath his chin, their limbs intertwining. 

Will hummed some song he had heard in the car quietly for a minute or two in the dark before he sighed heavily and fell quiet. Hannibal knew the rhythm would be stuck in his mind for the rest of his life, heavy, lulling, and comforting, as he also drifted to sleep.


End file.
